


An Innocent's Restoration

by BathoryAngel



Series: An Innocent's Ruin And Renewal [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cutting, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Multi, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 14:49:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4923745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BathoryAngel/pseuds/BathoryAngel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to An Innocent's Reparation. Castiel recovers from the rape and abuse of his past, with the help of Dean as the two boys learn what it means to move on together for the horrors of both their pasts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Innocent's Restoration

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! Didn't post a lot of tags yet, just getting the first chapter out to you. Will update everything when I post the next one. Sorry for the radio silence, I have been working on a seperate work a lot lately (it's all mapped out with many snippets written here and there. Have written and deleted the first chapter more times than I can count. As soon as I get the beginning right, will begin posting that as well). Anyways, I promised it would be a lighter story than its predecessor, and it will be I promise! However, this first chapter is still dark, sort of the residual transition needed from the first story. I may not have tagged it, but there will be suicide and a lot of death in this chapter! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!

                The trial had ended, but even with that chapter brought to closure the pain stubbornly lingered. It was everywhere, on every news channel and in every glance their way. Cas couldn’t even leave the house now without being hounded for interviews, constantly reminded of all they sought so desperately to forget. What should be a happy time, a time of moving on, had turned into a limbo of constant regression. All the progress had been wiped away, buried beneath the guilt and shame and pain. It had only been two days, two days since Zachariah and all the perverted rapists had been locked away. Two days of averted glances and sleepless nights. Two days since Cas had kissed Dean. Two days since anyone had seen him smile.

                Dean was only gone for a few minutes. Ten, maybe fifteen tops while he went to the kitchen to fix Cas something to eat. PB&J, simple but extraordinarily delicious if Cas’ moans of pleasure and bright, crumb and gum filled smiles of past were anything to go off of. Dean carried the sandwiches back to their room, hoping against hope that maybe this would be the nudge Cas needed, that maybe Dean could see him smile again. Of course, no one would be smiling much for a long time to come.

                “Cas!” Dean called, plastering on his cheeriest voice as he nudged the door open with his foot. “I brought your favorite! Spent hours slaving over…” Dean trailed off, looking in confusion at the empty room before him. The wheelchair was still by the bed where he had left it, so Dean knew Cas couldn’t have gotten far. Based on the blankets pulled almost entirely off the bed, Dean figured his angel must have slid off and crawled…wherever.

                “Cas?” Dean called again, panic rising even as he rifled through all the sane, non-worrisome reasons Cas could have possibly had for going somewhere on his own. Setting the plates down, he glanced around the room, making a mental note to clean it in the near future. Pulling his hand back as he stepped away, Dean couldn’t help but jerk a little at the small burst of pain.

                “Dammit.” Dean muttered, sucking at the fresh paper cut when he froze in his tracks. There, among the clutter of his desk, was the most simple of notes that held more meaning than life itself.

                _Dean. I’m sorry._

                It could have meant anything, could have been left there anytime. But Dean knew, just knew deep down in the churning of his gut that this was the end. No do-overs. No second chances.

                “Cas!” Dean all but shrieked, turning widely in panic, eyes sweeping relentlessly over the room. For the second time in a matter of seconds, Dean’s body locked rigid-tight and time seemed to freeze for the coldest of instances. The bathroom door was cracked open, framing Cas’ peaceful face as he lay in the tub. The face that was far too pale and far too still and all-together far too familiar for Dean to take.

                Numb, Dean stumbled his way into the bathroom. There Cas lay, wearing only the Metallica boxers Dean had helped him into just that morning. A simple pocket knife lay discarded on the bathroom floor, splattered with blood and sending piercing waves of guilt shooting through Dean. They had all been so careful for so long, keeping the closest eye possible on the boy that had come to mean so much to them all, to mean everything to Dean. But somewhere along the line, it was Dean who made the mistake, who got careless as he so often did. He must have left it out, or in one of his pants that scattered the floor. Maybe he did put it away after all, but Cas found it anyway. However it happened, Dean would never know. However it happened didn’t matter anyways. The result was the same.

                “Cas.” Dean breathed, falling to his knees besides the tub as the tears fell and the shock chilled him to the bones. This wasn’t any sort of half-hearted attempt, this wasn’t just a cry for help. This was Castiel, that quiet and tormented soul who gave all of himself to the world, giving and giving even as the world just kept taking and taking. But now he had given too much, and the world had taken too much, and Dean couldn’t do a thing to stop it, and now there was nothing left.

                Cas had many scars, covering his body to map out all the pain that had been inflicted on him. His arms had scars upon scars of pain he had cut into himself in desperate attempts to let the hurt inside flow free. But those were nothing like the fresh wounds still oozing blood before Dean now. No, those cuts had always been horizontal, just a small release to help Cas move on. Now those scars had been dissected, shredded beneath the vertical gouges that ran from elbow to wrist over and over again on each arm. The blood lingered, pooled around his thin frame and coating his pale skin. His chest, proudly boasting the defining swell of recovery now seemed hollow and sunken beneath the lingering stillness. His lips, so soft and full of whispered promises of love now caged in the breath that would never be taken again. His eyes, once so full of life hidden behind the lids of death. Cas was gone, really and truly gone this time, and had taken Dean’s heart with him.

                Dean sobbed for what felt like hours, unable to summon the strength to call for the others as he sat on the cold bathroom floor, cradling an equally cold face in his hands. It was Sam who found him like that, and Ellen who finally coaxed him out of the room as the police came in to do their job. It was Bobby who didn’t say a word but let the grief leaking out of him do all the speaking. It was Charlie who held him tight and sobbed just as hard as his chest kept constricting inside. It was Jo who kissed his cheek and told him it would be alright. And somewhat fittingly, it was Crowley who put the gun he so needed into his hand. There was nothing Dean could do to bring Cas back, but there was one thing Dean could do for him. So, as his father had done in memory of Mary so long ago, Dean went after those who had done this to his Cas. Dean went after revenge.

                The prison was surprisingly quiet at night, and altogether too easy to break into. Crowley, the bastard, of course had all the connections needed to plan this on such short notice. Dean would have ten minutes once inside before the time Crowley bought him would come to an end and he would be caught. Dean didn’t care. He didn’t plan on living beyond those ten minutes anyways. The lights flickered to life, bright and fluorescent in their buzzing. It was a long, empty hallway full of walls of bars housing the bastards that did this, that took the life from Cas and the heart from Dean’s still-beating chest.

                In the first cell sits Zachariah, thinner than Dean remembers but still full of that arrogance that Dean remembers so well. He looks old, weak and small in his prison garbs and the bad lights. Nothing like that picture that Dean still sees so clearly, of a happy family and a smiling Castiel surrounded by love.

                It takes Zachariah a few seconds to get his bearing, still coming to terms with the sudden waking. “Dean Winchester.” He finally gets out, settling his sights on the boy, no, the _man_ before him. “What an unpleasant surprise.” He smiles, all fake and smug and everything Dean needs to raise the gun in his hand.

                “Shut up.” Dean says, void of emotion like his empty chest constricting painfully. He sees the pictures once again in his mind’s eye, sees the videos and hears Cas’ testimony echoing over and over. Everything this shit of a man had ever done to Cas, every pain he ever inflicted on a never-ending loop of rape and torment and shame. “You hurt him. You hurt him so much in so many ways. And now he’s dead. He’s dead because of you.”

                “Who? Castiel?” Is all Zachariah manages to get out before Dean squeezes the trigger. The pistol recoils in his hand, shooting upwards and back a few inches before Dean levels it again. The bullet finds its home in Zachariah’s skull, no doubt bouncing around a few times for good measure before exiting the back of his head. The blood drools down his forehead, catching in his eyebrow and making red tear-tracks before Zachariah slumps face-down to the floor. Dead. Dean waits for the release in his chest, waits for the feeling of closure to pour through him. Dean feels nothing.

                Alastair is next, already alert and clutching at the bars. He heard what Dean said. He heard the shot. And he knew what Dean was here for.

                “Dean, Dean, Dean.” Alastair cooed, leering at him. “I know Castiel had a tight little ass and such a sweet mouth on him. But come on. There’s no need to kill over spilt milk.”

                “You.” Dean growled, meeting his gaze evenly. “You’re even worse than Zachariah. What you did- What you made Cas do-“ Dean shook his head, clearing the visuals forcing themselves to be seen from his mind. “You’re going to pay for that.” Dean shot him, not in the head like Zachariah. No, Alastair he shot in the knee. First the left, then the right. Screams echoed unheard in Dean’s head as he shot over and over and over again, never going for the kill shot. By the time the clip was empty, Alastair was a whimpering mess on the cement floor. Satisfied he would bleed out in due time, Dean left him there to die slowly as he changed the magazine and moved on to the next cell.

                “Dick.” Dean greeted the man cowering in the corner of his cell. The loan shark, a regular according to the trial. Dean felt no qualms shooting him. Or Lucas, the uncle. Or Lillith, the camera-woman. Over and over, Dean shot the ones who had hurt his Cas in ways that even Dean couldn’t fix. Over and over, Dean killed, trying desperately to fill the void in his chest where Cas had built his home there.

                Finally, Dean made his way to Michael. There were many cells behind him, full of blood and death and completion. There were many cells to go, full of no-name John’s who had taken their turns with a faceless boy and an upturned ass. This was the turning point, though. This was the one that Cas had forgiven. This was the one who had found it in him to say no, to stop.

                “Please.” Michael pleaded. “I-I’m sorry. I can’t even tell you how sorry I am. It was so sick, I was so wrong, I-“

                “Shit!” Dean hears from behind him. He turns his head slightly, seeing the guard by the door fumbling for his gun.

                “Drop your weapon!” The man screams, finally freeing his own weapon and zeroing Dean in his sights.

                “No.” Dean breaths, turning back to face Michael. “For Cas.” And with that, Dean squeezes the trigger one last time. He doesn’t hear the gunshots, doesn’t feel the bullets tearing through him. All he sees is Michael drop to the floor with him. All his feels is his own blood soaking through his shirt.

                “I’m coming, Cas.” He mouths, unable to speak anymore. “I’m coming to you, man. Not much longer now. We’ll be together, soon. I promise.” Taking his last breaths, Dean could swear he heard the flutter of wings. The blackness closed in, until nothing remained but the blue of eyes so familiar, so full of all he loved, that Dean knew he had made it to Heaven. He had made it home, to Cas’ waiting smile and open arms. He made it home.

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize profusely for leaving it there. Saying this now so you don't hate me as much, even though it spoils the next chapter, this is just a dream. I repeat, just a dream. Cas is not dead. Dean is not dead. I promise. Please, don't hate me or drown in your tears at this point. The next chapter will be coming up after I get some much needed sleep and take care of packing up (I'm moving back to the states soon). Thank you for reading and I promise to update this soon!


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